


Taking Flight

by DeadDove (Void_of_Self)



Category: The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Necrophilia, Psychological Horror, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28544367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Void_of_Self/pseuds/DeadDove
Summary: Instead of paying attention to Basil’s tedious moral tirade on the eve of his journey to Paris, Dorian wondered how it would feel to capture Basil's eloquent tongue with his own mouth instead.Following his impulse, Dorian seduces Basil with the promise of showing him the depths of his soul. But seeking knowledge has dangerous, often deadly consequences, and the artist is no exception.
Relationships: Dorian Gray/Basil Hallward
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19
Collections: General Darkness ‘n Shiz, r/Darkfics Monthly Prompt Challenge





	Taking Flight

**Author's Note:**

> To paraphrase Oscar Wilde himself, there is no such thing as a moral or an immoral story. Stories are well written, or badly written. That is all. 
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome! 
> 
> Please note though that **this is as dead as a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat gets**. What you see in the tags is what you get.
> 
> _I don't own any of the characters or the plot of The Picture of Dorian Grey, but they sure are fun to play with._
> 
> _______

Fortuna must have turned her back on him tonight. Dorian pretended not to hear Basil calling his name and continued walking towards his house, but it was futile - Basil had caught up with him and yanked on his arm.

"Dorian!"

"Oh, Basil. Out on the town tonight?" Dorian stopped and looked at the fraught man.

Basil waved his arm as if to smack the irrelevant words away. "Dorian, I must know. People are saying awful things about you and I don't want to believe them."

"Then don't," Dorian said simply and turned to walk away. 

Basil followed. "They are people of good character, who are trusted by others. Please Dorian, your honour has been compromised," he pleaded.

Dorian's lips curved up. "You know I don't care for honour, Basil, only for pleasure." Seeing the mutinous expression on Basil's face, he added: "Why don't you come in and we'll talk. Such conversations call for a drink."

"Oh, I suppose," Basil replied after a moment. "I was on my way to catch the train for Paris, but it can wait. You're more important."

They entered the already sleeping house and went to the drawing room, where a small fire was still burning. Dorian asked Basil to throw on another log while he busied himself with pouring the scotch. Handing a glass to Basil, Dorian sat in one of the armchairs and raised an eyebrow at his friend.

Basil sat down and drowned his glass, then launched himself into a long-winded tale of all the wrongdoings Dorian had apparently committed. Dorian had to admit that most of them were quite true, but for the moment he did not care about that. Tuning out the contents of Basil’s tedious moral tirade, Dorian instead focused on the fascinating way Basil's voice trembled in indignation one moment and implored him the next, the feverish hue in his friend's normally limpid eyes as they reflected the flickering light of the fireplace, and the nervous energy emanating from his being.

He pictured himself capturing Basil's eloquent tongue between his teeth and sucking on it. He imagined licking a wet trail from Basil's jaw to his ear and nibbling on the fleshy lobe. He would take Basil's coarse hair and pull on it to gain access to his throat and would bite into it softly, then bruisingly, until Basil finally shut up.

He felt himself grow hard. He placed down his still half-full glass, standing up and moving towards Basil, whose eyes grew deliciously round as he fell silent mid-sentence. Dorian chuckled and leaned over his friend to whisper next to his ear: "I really want to fuck you, Basil."

He straightened up and observed the shock, followed by arousal, that travelled over Basil's body, before the other pulled himself out of the trance induced by Dorian's proximity.

Basil stood up and stepped away from Dorian. "I don't even know who you are anymore, Dorian. I can't do this with you, not like this," his mouth spoke, but Dorian could almost feel the heat circulating through Basil's veins and pooling low in his belly.

"Basil," he purred, "let me show you who I am then. I promise I will bare my soul to you." 'And I want to see you bare yourself to me,' he didn't say, but Basil understood anyway, the lines of his face hungry and desperate despite trying to appear impassive.

"Remember my portrait, Basil? I lied when I said it got lost. It's upstairs and I want you to see it. Won't you come and look at it?" Lowering his voice to barely above a whisper, he added: "Won't you come while looking at it, Basil? I bet you always wanted to."

Basil felt himself drawn into the image painted by Dorian's hypnotic words and nodded, his eyes closing in helpless expectation. He sensed Dorian approach him, felt Dorian's perfect hands take hold of his face as if it was the most precious thing in the world. Dorian's warm breath slid over his skin, and then Dorian's mouth joined with his own, his tongue darting forward and licking along the line between Basil's lips, so Basil could only open them and welcome the delicious, insistent probing.

It was too much. His breath shuddered and heaved, became a barely audible sob. He felt warm wetness slide down his cheeks and realised it was tears. Dorian's fingers gently brushed them off.

"Shhhh. It's okay, darling," Dorian murmured. "I've got you."

Basil could hear Dorian fumble around in his pocket and was about to open his eyes, when they were covered with smooth silk. The sensation was strangely soothing. Basil could feel Dorian tie a knot at the back of his head to hold the blindfold in place. He felt mellow and warm and heavy, like a cat lazing in the afternoon sun. He allowed himself to be led out of the room. The door closed with a muted click and silence descended on the pair.

Dorian placed one arm around Basil's shoulder and took Basil's other hand in his own, slowly leading him along the carpeted hallway and up the stairs. Pliant and trusting, Basil followed Dorian's whispered encouragements and kept climbing the stairs.

Feeling the weight of Basil's body against his own made Dorian almost light-headed, as if he was drunk. He walked as close to Basil as he dared, lest they both take a tumble, and he felt ecstatic when they finally reached the topmost landing and the door to the old schoolroom.

Perhaps there was something perverse about fucking your former mentor and friend where you once spent hours as a child learning about the world. Dorian didn't care. His body was thrumming in anticipation of the pleasure he would be taking - and giving - soon.

He led Basil into the small, musty room, forestalling the latter's objections to the unusual smell by kissing him thoroughly while he started taking off Basil's clothes. He had to move away from Basil's mouth to completely undress him, but by that time Basil had forgotten all about the stale air and allowed himself to be guided across the room and lowered onto an armchair.

"Move your hips to the edge, Basil, and raise your feet," instructed Dorian and was pleased to see that Basil obeyed without protest. He must have been wanting this so much, Dorian thought. "You are simply delightful," he told Basil. "Please stay a moment like this."

He got up and rummaged around in a drawer, before returning with two coils of silk rope. The black and silver curtain tiebacks from his childhood bedroom would now be holding open his former mentor for him. He wondered what Harry would make of the symbolism and smiled.

He placed the sole of Basil's foot on the wooden armrest and pulled Basil's hand through the opening below, so the wrist was touching the ankle, then he tied the arm and leg together to the chair.

"Yes," he cooed at Basil, whose body had started to twitch. "I want you spread open like this, unable to resist me." He bent to lick Basil's semi-erect cock, repeating the action until it grew to its full length. When he finally felt Basil relax against the restraints, he bound his other two limbs the same way.

He looked at Basil, who was now folded in half with his arse fully exposed and his cock straining against his furrowed stomach. Dorian stood up and undressed, then tugged the satin coverlet from the painting and let it pool down on the floor. He was struck by the symmetry of the portrait laid bare in front of him on one side and its creator on the other.

Suddenly desperate to complete the link, Dorian sank down on his knees in front of Basil and started a slow, sensuous worship of Basil's flesh. He could feel the portrait's gaze burning into his back and it fuelled his excitement until it became a raging inferno.

He engulfed Basil's now weeping erection with his mouth and pushed forward until his nose touched Basil's belly and he gagged, once, twice, then lifted his head and spat the mixture of thick saliva and Basil's pre-ejaculate into his palm. Licking around and into Basil's anus, Dorian coated his cock in the slippery substance and positioned himself against Basil.

"Can you feel my desire for you, Basil?" he breathed as he made tiny movements forward, nudging against the slowly but surely relaxing ring of muscle. "We should have done this ages ago. All the times you were painting my portrait, pouring yourself into it, you could have been pouring yourself into me."

Basil whined, his cock bobbing in agreement with Dorian's words. Dorian pushed in a little more, just enough so the head of his cock was fully immersed. He stilled his hips and murmured sweet nothings while stroking Basil's erection, allowing himself to slip in further in careful increments until his hipbones hit Basil's taut flesh.

"There." He reached behind Basil's head and tugged off the blindfold. "Look at me. Do you see?"

He continued fucking Basil with measured thrusts and Basil opened his eyes to the most beautiful scene he had ever encountered. If only he could paint Dorian like this, making love to his body, youthful and vibrant, a perfect facsimile of the youth Basil had captured in his masterpiece.

Dorian placed a hand on Basil's jaw and turned Basil's head a fraction. "Look. Do you see?" he asked while observing Basil's face, never ceasing to move his hips. Basil's eyes took in one corner of the neglected and overstuffed room before settling on the painting mounted on a stand.

"Dorian, wh-what is this?" he stuttered. There was the familiar frame and the well-known background of his study, the figure in the portrait wore Dorian's clothes, had taken on Dorian's pose, but it was clearly an impostor, an improbability. He had not painted this. "Stop, stop!"

But the thrusts continued, and Dorian's eyes had taken on a manic glint. "That is me, Basil. The me that you painted. Do you like your creation?"

"I didn't create that monstrosity! Stop, Dorian! Untie me!"

The real Dorian before him was still thrusting in a steady rhythm, a sheen of perspiration covering his porcelain skin, while the grotesque face of the portrait leered at Basil from the side. Basil started to panic, he went soft, and his body clenched, the thrusts now an unwelcome intrusion into his belly. He was panting.

"Hush, Basil, look at him." Dorian covered Basil's mouth, forcing his head to the side again. "Isn't he something? Everything I ever did or thought is written on his face. He's all I can never become." Basil refused to look at the hideous thing on the wall, staring instead in horror at Dorian from the corners of his eyes that were again brimming with tears.

Dorian couldn't get enough of Basil's look. His hips stuttered and he plunged deep inside Basil's warmth which flowed up his cock and spread through his entire body. Having Basil like this was such a rush... He wanted to fuck him forever but knew he wouldn't last. Not when Basil struggled so deliciously, the shudders of his straining body massaging Dorian's entire length.

"Don’t you understand, Basil? You created me." Dorian breathed, then removed his hand from Basil's mouth to replace it with his lips and tongue.

A sharp pain made him withdraw. He felt his mouth fill with blood and saliva. He grinned, let the fluids ooze from between his teeth and drip onto Basil's chest. Basil screamed, so Dorian punched him in the nose as hard as he could.

The crunching sound was immediately followed by blood gushing down Basil's face. His raw moan made Dorian so hard it almost hurt. He covered Basil's mouth again with his bruised hand, pushing against Basil's nostrils, so that the trickle of his breath made a wet, sucking sound. Basil choked, his stomach contracting. He tried to shake his head free, but Dorian pushed further, grabbing the back of the armchair for leverage.

The body in front of him was convulsing now, its eyes clouded and unfocused. It was the most beautifully terrible (or was it terribly beautiful?) thing Dorian had ever seen. He made himself stop thrusting, leaned forward and just drank it all in - the rank scent of sweat and piss, the flushed cheeks peeking from around his hand like a coy maiden, the blood still trickling slowly along the line where his finger pressed against the skin. The glassy eyes with their pupils impossibly wide. Dorian was on the verge of unravelling, but held on.

Softly, the convulsions of the thing before him receded into tremors and then even those were gone. The torso sagged against the backrest. Dorian took his hand from the thing's mouth and the head remained nestled in-between the shoulders. He pushed the chin up so he could look into its empty eyes.

Faced with this shell waiting to be replenished with his essence, Dorian was overcome with a frenzy of feeling. He rutted violently into the body in short staccato thrusts until all of his awareness condensed in his centre and rushed through his cock into the warm receptacle beneath him. He grunted and seemed to be coming forever, until his own body sagged in total relaxation, just like the thing in the armchair.

The cold air hitting his spent cock as it slipped out of the body brought him back to his senses. Waves of revulsion crashed over him, making him retch, and for a long moment the world spun and quivered.

He inhaled a lungful of the stale, heavy air, then another, and stood up. The lump of flesh that used to be Basil was spread open obscenely, with semen dripping from the relaxed anus that reminded Dorian of a raw, puss-leaking wound.

He turned away from the armchair towards the portrait and startled. The portrait's eyes seemed to have captured everything that had transpired. The sheer intensity of feeling in them made the worn out, sickly face appear dignified and tragic - beautiful in a way Dorian has never seen before.

He stood looking at the portrait for a long time. He had seen and understood. He had been seen and had been understood. Finally, he shook himself loose of the silent communion with his counterpart and covered the painting.

Having dressed himself, he left the room without sparing the corpse another look. As always, he locked the door behind him and placed the key securely into the inner pocket of his vest. He was dead tired, but he still had an alibi to establish before he could crawl between the sheets. Tomorrow, he would call for Alan and that would be that.

In the small, silent room upstairs, a bloodstain bloomed over the canvas hidden behind the heavy drapes, while an artist's soul brushed against it one last time, shivered and took flight.

**Author's Note:**

> Occasionally, I might do minor edits (phrasing etc.). Nothing will change content-wise though.
> 
> Thank you for reading! :)


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